Forget Bushido
by Demi-Saiyajin Prodigy
Summary: (Complete) Samurai. A warrior of honour, sworn to his lord unto death. But not all samurai remain bound to that fate. What would make such a warrior abandon his lord, and in so doing stain his honour? A story of Yajirobe's past.


**Standard Disclaimer:  **If I owned DBZ, would this be fanfiction?  No?  That's what I thought.

**Second Disclaimer:  **This story is an entry for Mia Skywalker and Lady Lark's fanfiction contest:  "The Human Challenge".  If you like this story, visit Mia Skywalker's website (http://dbbulma.cjb.net) or Lady Lark's website (http://www.100megsfree3.com/leilia/fanfics/) and vote for me there.  For rules, dates, and general contest info, you can go to Mia Skywalker's explanation of the contest (http://fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=404834) and find all the info you want.

**Author's Notes:**  I made up Yajirobe's last name for this fic.  "Bumon" means "samurai's lineage".  I also made up the name for his home country; "Furui Kuni" basically means "ancient country".  And also, please note that this is a SERIOUS Yajirobe story.  Just thought I'd make this absolutely clear before you go on. 

**Forget Bushido**

Steel clashed with steel and pushed for supremacy, the arms of its wielders quivering with the strain.  Sparks shot into the air as the two blades scraped across each other before separating at last, only to meet again seconds later.  Two pairs of eyes, one pair black, the other brown, locked intently on each other from behind the crossed swords.

"Not bad, boy," the brown-eyed warrior said quietly.  "You've improved, I see… but you still have a lot to learn."

The black-eyed warrior gasped in surprise and pain as his opponent's foot caught him in his plump stomach; he staggered backward, and barely managed to duck in time to evade the sword slash aimed at his head.  He raised his own blade to deflect another blow.  Unexpectedly his opponent lowered his weapon, and, dropping nearly to his knees and spinning, swept his legs out from under him.  Grunting with the impact of his body hitting the floor, the black-eyed warrior lost his grip on his sword; a mere second later, he felt cold, sharp steel press lightly against his fleshy throat.

"If this were a real fight, Yajirobe, you'd be dead now."  The brown-eyed fighter shook his head and sighed.  "You've got potential, boy, but you were given the rank of samurai far too soon.  Your skills aren't well enough developed."  In a smooth motion, he withdrew his blade and sheathed it.

"My skills are just fine, Kobushi!"  Yajirobe contested, frowning indignantly now that his life was no longer in danger.  He struggled to his feet, trying to ignore the pain from the various cuts and bruises that Kobushi---curse him---had inflicted upon him during the training session, and brushed off his orange robes.  "I'm just having an off day, that's all!"  

"It seems that you're always having an off day when I train you," Kobushi chuckled, paying no attention to Yajirobe's annoyed growl.  "For once, I'd like to see how you fight when you're having an on day."  

"Yeah?  Well, you'll see it, next time!" Yajirobe challenged.

Kobushi's chuckles did not cease.  "I certainly hope so."  He waved his hand toward the door.  "Now away with you, boy; this session is finished."

Retrieving and sheathing his sword, Yajirobe stalked out of the training room, muttering a few choice words under his breath.  He'd show Kobushi one of these days; just because the guy was one of Oumono-sama's best samurai, it didn't give him the right to say that he wasn't worthy of his rank.

Yajirobe's family, the Bumon family, had spawned great samurai for generations---since the birth of Furui Kuni itself, to be exact.  The Bumon family was among the most respected of all samurai lineage; in every generation, the family would produce at least one warrior, if not more, who often achieved great honour and rank.  It was for this reason---and his incredible fighting skills, of course---that Yajirobe had attained the status of samurai at the young age of  twenty-two.  Most others didn't reach that until they were nearly twice his age.

Wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow, he decided to make his way to the dining area---after all, training was hungry work, especially if that training was with Kobushi.  At least the food here at the palace was a lot better than the company.  

So wrapped up in the idea of food consumption was Yajirobe that he failed to notice the person in front of him until he bumped into him and they both promptly fell to the floor.  The other man rose first, disgustedly brushing off the blue and gold retainer's robes that were draped over his tall, lean frame.

"Watch where you're going, you clumsy wretch," he spat, a sneer curling his thin lips.  He marched off imperiously before Yajirobe could form a response.

Climbing to his feet---for the irritating second time in a mere few minutes---Yajirobe shot an angry glare off in the direction the man had walked.  Yet another one of the palace's wonderful people:  Uragiri, the closest retainer to Oumono-sama.  Yajirobe couldn't stand the conceited creep; there weren't many that could, actually, though Kobushi seemed to get along with him well enough….

Yajirobe shook his head and continued his trek to the dining area.  Who cared about Uragiri, anyway?  There was a meal to be had, and food never looked at someone as though he were a piece of trash.  But even if it did, the situation could be easily be resolved with a pair of chopsticks and a large appetite; unfortunately, a person could not be handled so simply.  

He sighed in pleasure as he entered the dining area, the aromas of countless varieties of food blending deliciously and wafting thickly into his nostrils.  The place itself, a large room with several long tables separated from the kitchen by a counter displaying the available fare, was little more than a glorified cafeteria, but it suited his needs.  Many of the tables were occupied by warriors of various ranks, who were talking and laughing.  At Yajirobe's entrance, a few of them looked up, and began snickering.

Striding over to the counter to collect the widely-varied elements of his meal, Yajirobe ignored them.  He knew why they laughed at him; rather short and more than a little overweight, he hardly fit the ideal description of a warrior.  There were likely many who believed that he couldn't even lift a sword, much less fight with one. 

_And I could probably kick most of their butts, too, _he thought, a smug smile forming on his lips.

This smile was soon lost behind an overflowing plate of food---which was good, since everyone probably would have laughed at it, too.  Yajirobe plopped himself down at an empty table, and carefully set down his plate.  After gleefully rubbing his hands together, he laid into his meal.

"You notice anything weird happening lately?" came a voice.

Yajirobe's ears perked, and he momentarily lifted his head to see who was speaking; finding that it was two other warriors talking, neither of whom were looking at him, he shrugged, and continued eating, though he now kept his ears trained on the conversation.

"Weird?  You mean like how Uragiri's been acting?"

"Yeah.  And how he hasn't been around as much as he used to be," the owner of the first voice responded.

The other warrior chuckled.  "Tell me about it.  I hate the jerk, but he ought to be around to do his job.  Where do you think he goes?"

"Hmph.  Well, if I were him, I'd be out looking to get that rod up my butt surgically removed!"

The two burst out laughing, as did Yajirobe, though he stopped quickly as his chuckles turned into chokes, and he was forced to lightly punch himself in the chest to encourage his food into a less life-threatening position.  He returned to laughing afterward, not caring if anyone stared at him for it; the warriors here were never short of a good Uragiri joke.

Once tiring of the jest, he returned to his meal, manipulating his chopsticks with surprising dexterity; not a single grain of rice, nor the tiniest piece of noodle could escape its fate.  Dinner now finished, Yajirobe leaned back and loosened his belt a little; he'd likely gained a pound or two during the course of that meal.  He shrugged it off, though; he'd long ago accepted his poor metabolism, despite the fact that it made him the palace joke.  One of the two palace jokes, anyway; he grinned again at the latest insult to Uragiri. 

Yajirobe rose from his seat, ready to head back to his room for a good sleep---he always felt quite tired after he finished eating.  The conversation between the two other warriors had been somewhat interesting, but nothing that could really hold his attention.  After all, having Uragiri out of the palace more often than usual could be only a good thing.

A harsh pounding on his door jolted Yajirobe awake.  Grumbling and knuckling the sleep out of his eyes, he wondered what could be so important that it had to interrupt his rest.  It had better be good.

"I'm up, I'm up!" he shouted irritably through the door at the person who had the nerve to wake him.  "Whadd'ya want?"

"Meeting in the audience chamber, sir!" a thin voice called out in response.  "Head retainer says it's urgent.  All samurai required to attend!"

Yajirobe growled in annoyance; even when he wasn't around, Uragiri found a way to bother him.  "All right, all right, I'm coming!  Go bug somebody else!"

Pushing down his blankets, he swung his legs over one side of the bed and stretched his weary arms.  He sluggishly dressed, making sure that he wore his sword at his side---no sense in looking ill-prepared.  He covered his mouth with his hand in a futile attempt to stifle a yawn before he left the room.

"Stupid Uragiri.  Getting me up at Kami-only-knows what hour for some dumb meeting," Yajirobe mumbled quietly as he trudged to the audience chamber.  "How important could it possibly be?  There's nothing going on these days.  Man, I wish that guy would just disappear again like those guys in the dining area said he's been doing so much lately.  Maybe then I could actually get a decent sleep."

Arriving at the audience chamber, he pushed open the door to find row upon row of samurai lined up uniformly on the hard wooden floor, all in their traditional orange robes and with their swords at their hips.  On a raised platform stood Uragiri, in his usual blue and gold attire, looking as snobbish as ever.  The room was unnaturally silent, and Yajirobe could nearly taste the tension in the air.  He amended his previous thought; something was indeed going on.  Something major.  Shoving away his irritation at the interruption of his slumber, he took his place at the end of the back row of warriors.

"I see that everyone is now present," Uragiri stated smoothly, tucking his hands into the opposite sleeves of his robes.  "So I shall begin the meeting.  There is no point in delaying the reason that I have called you here, but I must warn you that you are about to receive rather shocking news.  I have reason to believe that our lord, the great Oumono-sama, is in mortal danger."

Yajirobe nearly fell over, and the rest of the assemblage gasped in shock.  Oumono-sama's life was in danger?  How could that be true?  Furui Kuni had been at peace for over a decade; there had been no rebellions, and no wars against other countries.  That the lord had become a target for murder at such a time was unfathomable.

"I realize that this comes as a great astonishment to you.  When I first received this news, I was loathe to believe it.  But as it is my duty as much as yours to protect Oumono-sama, I could not, in good conscience, disregard it,"  Uragiri continued after the gasps had died away, his voice sounding suspiciously calm.  "I have spoken to our lord on this matter, and he has agreed that the appropriate measures must be taken.  He has given me permission to set up a constant guard for as long as I feel there is need."

Yajirobe nodded mutely, following the reactions of his fellow samurai.  He couldn't really feel any resentment to Uragiri right now; the man was doing what he thought was best to protect Oumono-sama, and thus couldn't be all bad.  Even the biggest jerks could have good days, Yajirobe supposed.

The rest of the meeting was spent assigning guard posts to all assembled.  There would be two samurai assigned to each small section of the palace, shifts rotating every two hours for maximum efficiency.  More experienced warriors were placed in posts nearest to Oumono-sama's bedroom, a powerful last line of defence.  Thus Yajirobe was surprised to find that he was to occupy such a post in the early morning hours.

Despite what the others might have thought, Yajirobe was not a complete fool; for all his constant defence of his fighting skills, he had never deluded himself into thinking that he would so soon be given the duty of the lord's most trusted and seasoned samurai.  Length of service _did_ make a difference when it came to protecting the lord's life.  Something here seriously did not make sense.

"Hey," he said, walking over to Uragiri and tapping him on his shoulder to get his attention.  "What's up, Uragiri?  How come you put me where you did?"

Uragiri turned, a questioning expression on his thin face.  "Are you not pleased with your post?"

"N… no.  I'm not.  Displeased, I mean," Yajirobe stammered, silently cursing his clumsy tongue.  He may have been suspicious as to why he'd gotten his assignment, but that certainly didn't mean that he wanted it changed.  "I was just wondering why I got it, that's all.  I haven't been here that long."

"Perhaps not, but both Oumono-sama and I believe that you can handle such a responsibility."  Uragiri smiled warmly.  "The Bumon family has provided many a great samurai to this country, and we are certain that this trend shall continue.  The warriors of your line have always proven more than trustworthy and capable; I am sure that you will prove no different.  Now, if you would excuse me, I have other security measures that I must address."

Yajirobe merely blinked in disbelief as the head retainer returned to his duties, thrown by the drastic change in the man's attitude.  Only a day before, Uragiri had been his normal insufferable self, and today, he was downright friendly.  Yajirobe wasn't stupid enough to be taken in by such a shift in behaviour; he was certain now, that something odd besides the possibility of Oumono-sama's life being in danger was going on---and that the head retainer was in the centre of it.  

He sighed wearily.  Why did he suddenly feel as though Uragiri's recent absences should concern him?

  


Darkness lay claim to the room, broken only by the occasional weak, pale lamp.  All was silent, as it should be in the morning's early hours; not a whisper, nor a footstep invaded the air.  But that silence was soon interrupted, as a loud yawn escaped from the room's sole occupant.

Yajirobe covered his mouth to hide the indication of his weariness; he'd come to discover over the past few days that the pre-dawn shift didn't suit him at all.  He didn't mind that his post was so close to Oumono-sama, but he did wish that it could have been during the day.  Would anyone really even try anything at this hour when, by all rights, no one should even be awake?  Not even the potential killer himself?  It was absurd.

He leaned back against the wall, folding his arms across his chest, and letting his eyes slide closed---he wasn't going to take a nap on the job, but he just needed to rest his eyes a little bit.  It would only be for a few minutes, and anyway, nothing was going on….

A snore jolted Yajirobe awake, and he was quite annoyed to realize that it was his own.  This was just perfect---he'd fallen asleep.  If anyone found out about this, he would be in an incredible amount of trouble.  Seeing that the light level in the room hadn't changed from what he'd last remembered it to be, he decided that he must have dozed for only a few moments.  Not that that fact would help him if anyone found out---falling asleep on duty was falling asleep on duty no matter how long the nap may have lasted---but it was reassuring to know that he hadn't completely messed up.  And surely nothing untoward could have happened in such a short time….

A footstep clicked on wood.  Startled, Yajirobe jumped and darted his eyes about, searching for the source of the sound.  A moment later, he felt a chill in his blood; the sound had come from behind him.  Something had indeed transpired during his little "break", and he knew that that could not be a good thing.

_Just perfect, _he thought, hand closing on the hilt of his sword.  _Why did this have to happen to me?  Isn't there anyone else fate can make fun of?_

As silently as possible, he followed the soft sound of footsteps down the hall that was connected to the door he'd been guarding---the hall to Oumono-sama's bedroom.  Despite his girth, Yajirobe could be a very light stepper if he wanted to be, and made less noise than whoever he turned out to be pursuing.  He could see a shadowy figure walking a short distance ahead of him, but could make out nothing more than it was tall, and was perhaps of medium build.

Deciding that it was the best move to not sneak around any longer, Yajirobe drew his blade and charged toward the figure, uttering a fierce war cry.  The figure spun to face him as Yajirobe's sword arced toward his head---

---and met with steel.  Yajirobe gasped in surprise as he could get a good look at the figure's face by the light of a nearby lamp.  Stern features set in a face nearing old age, with dark brown eyes…

"Kobushi?" he asked, totally confused.  Maybe he was dreaming, or his recent lack of sleep was making him imagine things.  Surely what he was seeing now couldn't be real.  Kobushi was sneaking into Oumono-sama's room in the middle of the night?  That could only mean that he was the… 

"Hello, boy," Kobushi whispered softly.  "What are you doing up?  Shouldn't you be getting your beauty rest?  You looked quite comfortable a few moments ago." 

Yajirobe quickly recovered his composure.  "Yeah?  Shows how dumb you are---I was perfectly aware of everything going on around me!" he countered, not caring if his words sounded ridiculous; there was no way that he'd admit his folly to Kobushi.  "I knew you were there the whole time."  

"Did you, now?" the elder samurai chuckled.  "Then how come you let me walk right by you, past your guard post?  That's not a very smart move, boy."

"Well, if you're so perfect, tell me why you didn't notice me until I attacked!"  Yajirobe shot back.

"Who is to say that I didn't?"  Kobushi smiled coldly.  "And if I hadn't noticed you, wouldn't it have been a better move not to scream and rush toward me?  Perhaps you could have dispatched me before I had time to raise my blade.  I've said it before, Yajirobe, and I'll say it again:  you've still got a lot to learn."

Yajirobe jumped back instinctively as Kobushi's leg shot forward; the elder warrior was trying to repeat the same technique that he had used in the training session a few days past.  Yajirobe wasn't going to let it catch him this time; he wouldn't make the same stupid mistake again.  He lunged forward, his blade ready, but Kobushi deftly turned aside the strike.  The two samurai paused, eyes locked, swords raised defensively.

Kobushi smirked approvingly.  "Hm.  It would seem that you learned something from our last training session.  Or perhaps this is one of those 'on days' that you claim to have."

"I told you that I'd show you the next time, didn't I?" Yajirobe growled, tensing for another attack.  For all his bluster, he knew very well that it would take everything he had to defeat Kobushi.

"That you did, boy.  I'm glad to see that you weren't bluffing."

Both of them charged, swords slicing through the semi-darkness.  Sparks flashed into the air as steel met steel time and again.  Yajirobe was unable to gain the advantage on his opponent, but nor was he purely outmatched; every move that Kobushi made was something that Yajirobe remembered from his countless training sessions with the man, and it seemed as though he were being tested to see if he'd been paying attention.  After a time, they separated to regain their wind.

"Very nice, boy," Kobushi panted lightly.  "Yes, the potential for greatness is there.  It is truly a shame that I shall have to curtail its development."

"What's up with you, Kobushi?" Yajirobe managed between heavy breaths.  He blinked beads of sweat out of his eyes.  "Why are you doing this?"

"Why am I doing what, boy?"

Yajirobe snarled impatiently.  "Don't play dumb!  We both know that you were trying to sneak in and kill Oumono-sama!"

Kobushi's expression did not change.  "I see you're not as much of a twit as you act.  Personal matters, boy; nothing of your concern."

"Then what about Uragiri?"  

"Something to do with relations to one of our neighbouring countries, I believe, though he didn't bother to go into detail of his motives with me," Kobushi responded.  "I don't much care what they are."  

Gasping in shock, Yajirobe could only watch as the elder samurai leapt into the air, and gracefully somersaulted over him; Yajirobe could not hope to be so athletic in his life.  This last thought nearly cost him his life, as he barely managed to spin and bring up his blade in time to block Kobushi's sword slash.  He struggled against the elder warrior's continued pressure, determined not to concede.

_I told him I'd show him,_ he thought, gritting his teeth.  _And that's what I'm gonna do!_

With great effort, he managed to push Kobushi's blade away, and followed up with a slash aimed at the elder samurai's gut; Yajirobe growled in frustration as Kobushi lightly jumped backward to dodge it.

"Much as I would like to continue this, boy, I haven't the time," Kobushi said smoothly, for some reason not tensing for another attack.  "But at least try to look at it this way:  you'll die honourably, protecting the life of your lord.  It is a worthy death for a samurai."

"What are you---oof!"  Yajirobe staggered backward, free hand pressed against his now bleeding nose.  A sharp pain shot through the wrist of his sword-hand, and his blade clattered to the floor.  He knelt down, groping blindly for his weapon, knowing that if he didn't find it, he probably had about ten seconds to live---but another heavy impact slammed into his forehead, and he went sprawling.

Something cold and sharp pressed ever-so-lightly against his throat; forcing himself to open his eyes, Yajirobe peeked through the stars dotting his vision to see Kobushi standing over him with what looked to be an almost regretful expression on his face.

"I _do_ hate to do this, boy," Kobushi's voice came from someplace further away than Yajirobe knew that it should have.  "It would have been better for you if you'd stayed asleep at your post; that way, you could have just taken punishment for failing at guard duty, as you were supposed to.  Granted, in this case the punishment would be death, but…"  Yajirobe thought he could see a small smile form on the elder samurai's lips.  "…but I could have had it arranged that you merely be banished; I'm not as callous as I've been acting, boy."

Forgetting his pain, Yajirobe raised both hands defensively, one covered in blood.  "Whoa, whoa, there!  Come on, do ya really have to _kill_ me?  Couldn't ya just be a pal and knock me out instead?"  He waved his hands desperately, small droplets of blood flying off one hand.  Sure, he'd known that he might have died when fighting Kobushi, but only in the back of his mind; Yajirobe could handle pretty much anything in the back of his mind without a problem, but when something like certain death in the next five seconds pushed its way to the forefront, handling it suddenly became a great deal more difficult.

"I'm afraid that that wouldn't work out for me at all, now would it?  Can't have any witnesses."

"Who said I have to be a witness?  I won't say anything!  I'll pretend that I got knocked out before I could see anything!" Yajirobe tried, his voice rising in pitch.  He was only waving one hand in the air now, sending the other one groping across the floor again, and attempting to ignore the fact that his weapon was probably not near enough for him to find.  If only he could find his sword, he might be able to surprise Kobushi…  "And if you didn't want to have to kill me, why'd you go through with this whole stupid scheme?  Things would have been a lot easier if…" 

Kobushi shook his head.  "Do you honestly think that anyone would have believed that a threat to Oumono-sama's life went undiscovered?  It's no more believable than an experienced samurai slipping up in guard duty.  Why do you think Uragiri assigned _you_ to this post?"

Despite the situation, Yajirobe couldn't help feeling insulted; he'd just been used as the same incompetent fool that everyone believed him to be.  If he could only find his sword, he'd _show_ them incompetent….

"So it ends, boy."  Yajirobe squeezed his eyes shut as Kobushi's blade pressed more deeply into his flesh---

---and stopped suddenly.  Yajirobe's eyes flared open as he heard a strange gurgle to see the point of a slender, blood-dripping sword protruding from the elder warrior's stomach; Kobushi was looking down at it in pure shock, some of the crimson life-liquid gouting forth from his lips.  The blade slowly withdrew.

"Whoa!"  Yajirobe scrambled backward as quickly as possible as he watched Kobushi's sword fall from his limp hand before the warrior himself sank to the floor.  Looking up, Yajirobe saw a sandy-haired man, near middle age, grasping the hilt of a bloodied sword in both hands.  Tsuki, his guard duty partner.

Tsuki frowned down at Kobushi's motionless body.  "Traitor's death.  By far the worst way for a warrior to go, especially one such as he."

Sword still at his hip, Yajirobe stalked out of the front door of the palace, in a sullen and resentful mood.  He glanced over his shoulder to the palace's high white walls and gracefully sloping blue-tiled roofs.  Spitting in disgust, he then turned away, and continued walking.

"I can't believe this," he muttered.  "I deserved some credit for stopping Kobushi and Uragiri!  Instead, Tsuki goes and hogs it all!  What a jerk.  'You do me too much honour, Oumono-sama.  I only did what any samurai would have done.'" Yajirobe repeated the words spoken by his guard duty partner only one day past, slurring them derisively.  "Hmph."

With Kobushi dead, and Uragiri sentenced to die for treason, Yajirobe knew that he should feel a certain amount of happiness; he had, after all, played a large part in saving Oumono-sama's life.  But not receiving any recognition for it had left a taste in his mouth that was at once sour and bitter.  Sure, he was glad that the scheme had been foiled and that Oumono-sama was alive, but would it have hurt Tsuki to share the glory a little?

Apparently, the answer was yes.  And that was why Yajirobe had decided to leave.  If he was going to do something worthwhile, he'd very much like to be noticed for it; the day before had made it very clear that such a thing was not going to happen at the palace.

"They'll see," he stated proudly, holding his head high.  "One day, I'm gonna be part of something big.  Something _really_ big.  And I'm gonna do whatever it takes to make sure that I get time in the spotlight for it."


End file.
